


We Wolf You a Merry Christmas

by billtheradish



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Gen, Puns & Word Play, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 00:49:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/billtheradish/pseuds/billtheradish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Secret Santa," Lydia chirped, rustling the basket in Melissa's direction. "I don't know about you, but I wasn't planning on actual presents for everybody? I was thinking, you know, gift cards, maybe? At most?" Her head tilted to one side, flashing a bright smile that definitely said 'murder' more than 'happy'. "But now we're apparently having a party. Sooo..." She gave the basket another shake, eyebrows jerking up. "Secret Santa."</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Wolf You a Merry Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thecivilunrest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecivilunrest/gifts).



> This story is part of the [Teen Wolf Holiday Exchange](http://teenwolfholidayexchange.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, for the prompt _"The pack has a Secret Santa and someone keeps getting really crappy gifts that actually aren’t crappy but end up being the parts/hints to one great big present when the last present/secret santas are revealed."_
> 
>  **I wasn't sure how to tag for this, but please note the following warnings:** Thoughtlessness leads to someone's privacy and home security being compromised, to no ill effect (and they are called on it). POV has a mostly unexamined mainstream cultural background/bias. Gangs and gang activity are brought up as a metaphor for werewolf packs. Author might try to hard on her warnings.

"Uh. Hi," Melissa said warily, eyes skipping between the bright smiles on her porch (one practiced, the other accompanied by a sheepish-excited twitch of the shoulders that she was more used to seeing on _Scott_ ).

Lydia Martin, Allison Argent, and a tiny wicker basket with a cheerful red bow on the handle weren't at the bottom of Melissa's 'things I expect when I open the door' list, but that's because they weren't _on it_. (They'd be on the 'nice' hal--thir--quarter of the list, if they were, at least. Not the 'yell for Scott' rest of it.) "What's this?"

"Secret Santa," Lydia chirped, rustling the basket in Melissa's direction. "I don't know about you, but I wasn't planning on actual presents for everybody? I was thinking, you know, gift cards, maybe? At most?" Her head tilted to one side, flashing a bright smile that definitely said 'murder' more than 'happy'. "But now we're apparently having a party. Sooo..." She gave the basket another shake, eyebrows jerking up. "Secret Santa. One gift, five to forty dollar range, no intentional gag gifts unless it's Stiles or Allison."

Melissa felt her eyebrows go up and glanced over at Allison. (And, wow, that girl was _alarmingly_ still while also giving off the impression she was going to start bouncing any minute. Melissa suspected there was some serious Christmas Cheer going on there.)

The shift in Allison's face was almost comical, zipping from alarmingly-enthusiastic to embarrassed reassurance in half a blink. (And great, now Allison was reminding her of Stiles. Ow, her head.) "No, I-- I mean, _we_. Stiles and me. We made her put that in. We think they're funny."

"Okay then," she said, reaching hesitantly for the basket and the tiny slips of paper in it. God, what if she got a Hale? Or one of the new boys? She didn't even know their names, and wasn't quite ready to forgive them for... Anything. What if-- "What if I get Scott?" She frowned, eyeing the basket warily, fingers hovering. "I'm not going to _not_ get my son something, just because I don't get his name in--"

Lydia cleared her throat, cutting Melissa off with a smile that--seemed a little more real than most of her others. Or--not real, maybe. Honest. "If you pull a name you're getting a gift for because you think they're family, just give it back to me and I'll replace it for the next round. I have extras of everybody."

"I think she's done this before," Allison mock whispered, nose scrunched up and utterly adorable. (Sometimes, Melissa wished it was easier to dislike her. But no. She couldn't do Melissa that favor.) "She's really good at it."

Melissa took a name.

"...wait. What party?"

\-----

"It's really weird, being an alpha werewolf's mom," Melissa sighed, pouring out two glasses of wine. "I just said it was--weird, you know, and kind of awkward, that you and I couldn't even _talk_ anymore without knowing someone could probably hear us, and he got this weird look on his face and--and just _nodded_ , and said he'd make sure we were left alone if I let him know when. And he was so _serious_ about it and damnit, where'd my _kid_ go?"

She set the bottle down a little harder than she'd meant to and let herself fall into her chair with a huff. Okay, so maybe her point had gotten a little away from her. A bit.

John squinted at her, sort of smiling and sort of not (she knows where Stiles gets the face from, let's leave it at that), but he waited until she was done with a drink before talking. "I thought you had this moment already, over the condoms."

"Do not remind me," Melissa sighed, holding up her hand. "And indications he's sexually active are a _little_ different than--than--"

"Running a gang?" John offered, sipping the wine with a grimace he couldn't quite hide behind the glass. She gave him a wounded look, but he just shrugged. "It's how I think about it, to protect my sanity a little. 'My son is involved in gang activity' is a little easier to swallow than 'my son is in a--a _werewolf_ pack.'"

They both grimaced.

Melissa refilled her glass. John probably wouldn't need it for a while yet. (Besides, they weren't getting _him_ drunk. This was _her_ night of irresponsibility.)

That didn't mean he made it easy on her, though. She'd just taken a good healthy drink from her new glass when John sighed, and "You realize he probably thinks we're having sex."

She choked, cupping a hand under her chin automatically and leaning forward so when she dripped it was on the _table_ not her shirt.

John handed her a napkin, expression innocent. Jerk.

"Anyway," she managed to get out, once her face was clean again and the table sopped up. "None of that is why I wanted to talk to you," she said firmly, glaring at him before putting away a quick swallow. (It really was terrible wine, but it was one of the false apologies Kyle had tried to bribe his way back into the house with. She didn't really expect anything different.) "Have you heard about the party?"

"The party or the secret Santa?" John asked, smile more rueful than amused. "Either way, yes. I didn't get to opt out, either, even though I might not make the party. That Martin girl's a menace."

Melissa snorted into her glass. "They all are. So who did you get?"

"Uh. Secret?" John mocked, eyebrows raising.

"Uh, I don't care?" she teased back, gesturing with her wine glass. "C'mon. I need help with mine, so you have to tell me yours first."

John sighed, rubbing his forehead. "That's my line." He sighed then, put a decent sized swallow back and didn't bother trying to hide his grimace. "So. What do you think I should get the girl my son obsessed over for years for Christmas?"

"Lydia?" Melissa snickered. "Oh, wow. That's--" She wiped at one eye, grinning so hard it was hurting her jaw. "That's perfect," she sighed, setting her glass down and folding her hands on the table, smiling across it at John. "So, what should I get my son's ex-girlfriend?"

John groaned and dropped his head against one hand. "You win."

"I really, really do," she agreed. "Has anyone told you where the party's going to be?"

He blinked at her, glancing toward the living room, which. Her life.

"I'll take that as a yes. Well, guess what?" She leaned forward, grinning. " _I had to ask_."

John refilled her glass.

He was a good friend.

\-----

It was kind of an accident. She hadn't gone to the mall _looking_ for something for Allison. Had just been keeping half an eye open while she finished up work presents (LUSH? _Best_ place to spend ten bucks or less per person and still come out with thoughtful, indulgent stuff, even if it was all stuff that they couldn't use before going on shift. Riotous scents and random glitter--not so great for hospitals).

She'd held it together through LUSH, had escaped with exactly the gifts she'd gone in looking for, and then there was a kiosk in the hallway with ridiculous tee-shirts and, well. Things happened.

And here she'd thought her impulse buying days were mostly behind her.

It took until she got to the car before she started regretting it. Took until she got home before she was really thinking all the possible connotations through.

She didn't take the shirt back, though. Ended up staring at it, laid out on her bed with a roll of wrapping paper in one hand. Waiting.

It was a pretty simple shirt. A bullseye graphic, with a heart in the middle and an arrow sticking through it, and the text SHOT THROUGH THE HEART stretched out along the arrow shaft.

Well, whatever, Melissa decided, unrolling her paper. Allison said she liked gag gifts. Hopefully she'd see the humor in this one and not just the--

God she was a horrible person, sometimes.

\-----

Melissa mostly forgot about the whole thing, after that. Well, not the party. She had to get groceries for the party (no, no she didn't, Scott said, just enough to make her spicy onion dip and apple cider) and clean for the party (except the messes kept getting picked up as they happened, which was-- _so_ weird) and figure out what to wear for the party (what was an adult supposed to wear to a high school party? Jeans, according to an e-mail Lydia sent out two days after she'd started wondering. Jeans and either a Winter Holiday Themed Shirt or something casual and clean. Which--that was most of her wardrobe, so that was okay) and decorate for--

No, that was getting done without her too.

Melissa frowned at the boys hovering uncertainly in her living room, all identical and creepily blank faces and sheepish hunched shoulders and a string of silver and gold garland stretched out between them.

Right then.

She sighed and attempted a smile (settled on a wave), ducking into the kitchen of what was starting to not even feel like _her_ house anymore.

And hesitated. Because what.

There was...a pack of sponges on the table.

Melissa glanced around, but there was nothing else out of place. Just--sponges.

She sighed, assuming someone had just gotten them out and not put them back, but when she went to put them away there was a crinkle of paper and a tiny note that just said '10' fell out from underneath it.

What?

\-----

The next day, there was a bleach pen in her bathroom, a cheerful pink post-it with the number 9 on it stuck to the cap like a flag.

Melissa squinted at it, not awake enough to really worry yet that someone had been _in her bathroom_. Mostly just confused.

Because what?

\-----

Day eight, with the note on the box of swiffer refill pads, it started making more sense.

Melissa tapped out the days on the calendar. It was eight days until the party.

This was probably her Santa.

...her Santa was giving her _cleaning supplies_.

She sighed, and tried to remind herself of how mean her gift to Allison really kind of was. She had no leg to stand on.

It was still irritating, though.

(The swiffer refills were gone when she got home from work, though. The trash was taken out too, but she couldn't remember if she'd reminded Scott about that that morning or not.)

\-----

Day seven was confusing and aggravating and she'd suspect Stiles was behind it, if she didn't _know_ he knew how to give proper gifts.

The boy had no tact to speak of, but he was observant when he wanted to be.

And he'd _observed_ enough to know that leaving a box of tampons and a box of pop tarts (especially when she didn't even _eat_ pop tarts) out on her kitchen table would probably earn him a lecture, even if he didn't know why.

She ripped the number 7 off the pop tarts and stalked over to the cupboard to put them away, behind the box she already had up there for--

But the box she had in the cupboard for Scott wasn't there.

And when she went to put the tampons away, the mystery of why they were her brand and everything was solved because her backup box of _those_ was missing too.

So they'd given her two things she already owned, one of which she didn't use and one of which they shouldn't be messing with.

What.

(There was something else, that night when she got off shift. A magnetized note pad on the freezer door, with a check-list style grocery list on it. But it didn't have a number and she figured it was Scott.)

\-----

She never saw it happen, but secret Santa gifts started gathering under her tree. Which--fine, Scott was around when she wasn't, and her house had werewolves in it more often than not these days, and she suspected Stiles wasn't the only person Scott would leave alone in the house anymore, so.

It still baffled her when a box nearly as big as her _torso_ showed up, because she'd been home and, so far as she knew, no one else was.

She eyed it warily, but nothing about the cheerful Santa print suggested anything ominous. There wasn't even any mistletoe on it.

Stiles' name was scrawled out over it in angry looking sharpie, though. It wasn't in anyone's handwriting she recognized.

"Do we need to worry about that?" she asked Scott once he'd come home, pointing in case he missed the _gigantic red and white box_.

Scott frowned at it, leaning forward and--and _sniffing_ it. (Melissa covered her face with her hands, because _really_ Scott? _Really?_ ) He grimaced, then shrugged. "Uh. That's--maybe? But I don't think so."

"Do we need to worry that it showed up while I was home alone, and I didn't see anybody?" She was trying to smile, trying to find humor in it, but it didn't feel very successful.

"Lydia delivered it," he reassured her, which--wasn't as reassuring as he obviously thought. "She has a key."

"You gave her a _key_?" And, okay, that was a little more strident than she liked to sound, so she closed her eyes and took a slow and careful breath.

Scott winced, looking--not guilty, but sheepish. "Actually, I think she copied Stiles'."

Her life.

Melissa put her hands on her hips and pulled out her best I'm-the-Mom glare. "That ends. After this party, anyone who has one is turning their key in, you hear me? Nobody has keys unless I okay it, or I'm changing the locks and _you'll_ be lucky if you have one."

He nodded, eyes wide, and it was really, really hard to remember that he was a gang leader now. Werewolf. Pack leader. Alpha.

Thingie.

\-----

Day six was a little package of laundry detergent pods. Which--okay, she'd been curious about those and wanted to give them a try, but still.

Day five was dishwashing detergent. The more expensive, natural ingredients one she'd started buying since finding out why Scott had started making faces at dinner sometimes. (Soap residue. Who knew?)

Day four was counter wipes, and they weren't even _trying_ to hide the fact that they'd just taken her own out, this time. It wasn't a new package.

Day three was--confusing. A giant microfiber mitten and a bucket. What?

She almost missed day two's entirely, in her rush for the door. (Her turn to get the call for the extra hour, two hours, half-shift, full-shift, oh-god-please-just-come dance of the hospital holiday season.) 

But she knew better than to go in on an empty stomach (low blood sugar wasn't her friend, or anyone else's. And neither was she, when she needed snacks), and when she ducked into the kitchen for something she could eat en route, there it was. A gigantic bag of baking soda, and a gallon jug of white wine vinegar.

She blinked at it, then pulled off the note and ran for the door.

Sometimes, things went away after she'd taken the note off, and she really didn't have time to wonder about this one.

\-----

Scott had only asked her to make onion dip and apple cider for the party, so...that's what she did. There was cider keeping warm in the crock pot and the onion dip was in the fridge, just waiting to come out onto the _completely empty table_ , and--

\--and she kind of wanted to cry, because she had a _pack of teenagers_ descending on her house and no food. (Screw the werewolves, she knew where the danger was.)

But then the twins were there, still sheepish and blank and hovering uncertainly on her front porch with--what looked like half a grocery store's worth of snacks between them.

Literally between them. They were carrying a box.

A box full of chips and pretzels.

Lord help her.

She realized the twins had frozen in the face of her Mom-Stare when Lydia came up the steps behind them, shooing them into the house with a _look_ because her hands were full of stacked, lidded bowls.

Oh thank goodness, that looked like it might be actual food.

And it was. Pasta salad and mashed potatoes, and it turned out the box _also_ had a fruit tray, rolls, and a tupperware container of gravy hidden under all the junk food.

Then John and Stiles were there and the salad was store bought, but it was one of the fancy organic ones with all sorts of stuff in it, so whatever. (She appreciated the soda more, really. And the already chilled bottle of wine John pressed into her hand with a wink.) Isaac showed up carrying two pans of brownies--different _types_ of brownies, one had caramel on top and the other had chunks of white stuff and a promising whiff of peppermint. Allison and her father (what) showed up next, carrying what turned out to be a roast, and a side of grilled vegetables, and--

And Chris and John were bickering over how to carve a roast in her kitchen. There were four side dishes already sitting out on the table. The kids were mostly clustered in the living room, with chips and her dip and mugs of cider, passing presents toward the tr--

That was a lot of presents.

Melissa shook herself out of the lingering feeling of being useless and squinted.

Lydia fished a fist-sized box wrapped in solid red and silver out of her purse with a triumphant hum and handed it off. Melissa counted another eight presents with that exact wrapping under the tree.

Not getting something for everybody her _ass_. But that looked like the norm. Lots and lots of little boxes. Way more than made sense, if they were just doing a secret Santa.

Oh hell. What.

Lydia's last gift ended up balanced on top of the kind-of-actually-really-mean shirt Melissa had gotten for Allison.

Melissa pursed her lips and headed for the kitchen. She needed adults and wine.

\-----

Dinner was-- Well.

Let's just say Scott was never planning a group meal again without consulting her, so they didn't run out of meat before everyone had gotten seconds.

But there was no actual bloodshed, just--a little bit implied, and mostly as a joke. (What even. Why was this her life?) Melissa learned Ethan and Aiden's names, finally, and between her and John, they teased out a few more details about werewolfy adventures that had previously been skipped or omitted by their kids. (She was faring better than John, for number of pointed-glances-at-wincing-son, but it didn't exactly surprise her that Stiles was holding back.)

It was still a holiday meal, so everybody was sticking to lighter, less serious stuff. Which she could only tell because she could read the glances between Scott and Stiles when a story edged too close to something else. Saw the way expressions faltered and stories readjusted to end in midmotion. (And that-- That _terrified_ her, because Chris Argent nearly squashing her _son_ between two cars was _lighter, less serious stuff_.)

Good food, horrific topics, awkward silences.

Yup. Felt like a holiday with the family.

What.

\-----

After dinner, Lydia and Allison both beelined for the tree and started doing some sort of complex dance of tiny gestures and eyebrow positioning over who got which side of the tree.

Allison ended up with the wall, Lydia tucked over toward the TV, and everyone else settled in around them. The couch was shunned, a few of the cushions pulled down and teenagers spreading out in an uneven arc around the pile of presents. They left a gap in front of Melissa's favorite overstuffed chair, though, and made gaps for John and Chris when they pulled in a few extra chairs from the dining room.

Then the boxes started flowing.

There were a lot of boxes.

Oh god.

Before she knew it, Melissa had a box from Lydia, one from each of the twins (what), a box from Allison (she was a horrible, horrible person), and _nearly_ had a box from Scott (he yelped and stretched across the circle to grab it and shove it back under the tree--that was apparently for actual Christmas). Chris and John were eying slightly smaller stacks (they didn't have anything from the twins, which again-- _what_ ) with confusion while Allison hesitated over a box wrapped in hideously gaudy paper and wiggled it in Stiles' direction.

"No, yeah," Stiles said, barely looking up from trying to stack his boxes into a pyramid. "Everything I brought is for today."

That box went to John, but another made its way toward her a moment later. (Another went to Chris, and she didn't miss the way his knuckles went white for a moment, after setting it down. Interesting.)

She didn't get a box from Scott, but everyone else did. Which--good. Considering everyone else, she might have felt like a bad parent if they hadn't.

Which was a little bit messed up, but whatever. She was used to messed up.

There were a few odd boxes out, among the kids. Lydia had a card in a gold envelope that she flipped over a few times, eying it speculatively. Allison's shirt was propped carefully on top of her stack, and Stiles' eyes bugged out when Lydia hauled the gigantic box out from the back and slid it his way. Scott had something long and narrow that rattled and he kept _sniffing_ it (what), and Isaac was occasionally shooting wary glances at a head-sized box in his pile.

She'd stopped looking at Ethan and Aiden's piles, because they had two stacks _each_ and she was going to _throttle_ her son for not telling her there were birthdays too.

The last things to come out from under the tree were cards for Melissa and John and Chris. All in the same plain red envelope, all with the same writing.

"I think we've been played," Melissa muttered, tapping her card against her knee as she glanced over at the other parents. "The secret Santa was rigged."

Lydia sniffed, sorting her boxes with a smug little smile. (It made Melissa think of a dragon sorting its horde.) "Only a little. You might as well open them."

John was already tearing into his, snorting at the card which-- Oh god, that was a wolf. That was a wolf, howling at the moon, wearing a santa hat. Melissa covered her snort with a hand.

"Funny," John muttered, eying Stiles who was abruptly much too innocent and interested in his stacking (he was working on a tower, now. Probably because the gigantic box wouldn't pyramid). 

But John was frowning at the interior of the card, then. Pulling out a handful of loose slips of paper. "Good for one sniffing?" he read incredulously, flipping to the next one. "A lot of sniffings, and some hearings. And--" His eyebrows shot up. "Not _nearly_ enough get-off-my-crime-scene's."

"I'll print a few more," Stiles sighed, sounding put upon. "But if we tell you something's hinky, you need to--"

"Hinky? Did you seriously just say _hinky_?"

"--let us _explain_ , and _yes_ , Dad, I said hinky. What's wrong wi--?"

"Why do I need a copy of everybody's schedule?" Chris cut in, frowning at the contents of his own card. And--right. She was supposed to be opening that.

"You said you thought it'd be good if we trained with the pack," Allison pointed out, hands twisting in her lap. "Lydia worked out the best times to get us together in small groups. There's more emphasis on the-- Well," she shrugged, looking awkward and gesturing at Lydia and Stiles and _why was that hand pointing at her_. Melissa eyed it warily. "The sheriff's on there too, but."

The humans, she meant. The humans who didn't have a lot of self defense training.

Melissa paused, her finger paused halfway through ripping her envelope open. "How'd you get a copy of my schedule?"

Scott raised a sheepish hand.

Oh, they were going to have words. _Words_. Melissa tried to convey that while ripping through the rest of her envelope.

She had the same card as John and Chris, which didn't surprise her. It looked like the sort of thing that was sold in--in packs. (She was never saying that out loud.) 

It did surprise her that she had a schedule too. "What is this?"

Scott's chores were marked out. Scott's chores were marked out more rigorously that she bothered with trying to enforce. But there was always someone else's name there too, with--

Cleaning _both_ bathrooms? Scott didn't do that, but there it was with Isaac's name next to Scott's. Vacuuming and trash had Allison and Scott. Stiles and Lydia, weirdly, seemed to be double teaming Scott three times a week for laundry, dishes, cleaning his room. Ethan and Aiden were apparently scheduled in for a monthly deep clean? And--washing her car. And _grocery shopping_?

What.

"Why--"

"You're really busy," Scott said, ducking his head. "And--I'm kind of crap at remembering to do this stuff? So--"

"He's better at it when he has company," Stiles shrugged, like that was just a thing everybody should know. "So we scheduled him company and a little help."

"We're going to end up over here all the time anyway," Lydia pointed out with a shrug of her own. "It's only fair we keep from making a mess. And this way, you and the sheriff will have more time together."

This time it was _John_ who choked on his drink. _Hah_.

"I--see." The cleaning supplies made more sense, suddenly. And-- "You already started, didn't you."

The trash. The sudden downturn in _stuff_ piles. The grocery list on the freezer.

"In bits and pieces," Allison agreed, smiling and scrunching her nose up. "It's--kind of weird? And we don't always make it over when we mean to, but."

"It's a work in progress," Lydia shrugged.

"I still want everyone to turn their keys in," Melissa said, stuffing the schedule back in the card, back in the envelope, out of sight so she could think about it _later_.

The rest of the gifts were--just as weird.

Allison, thank goodness, laughed like a hyena when she saw the shirt. Immediately plastered it against her chest, grinning at everybody and delighted and it was always possible she just didn't recognize the song lyric, but Melissa wasn't going to think about that.

Scott's box turned out to be boxes and boxes and _boxes_ of different types of gummies, and she was never seeing her son without a sugar high again. Oh god.

"Okay, someone pulled a parent on me," Lydia muttered, flashing a flyer at the group. "What is this?"

John rubbed the back of his head, grimacing. "I--thought, with everything that'd gone on--"

But Lydia's attention had dropped to another piece of paper that almost slipped out and away. "This is for firearm safety lessons," she said, eyes narrowed at it. "And a flyer for an after school self defense class that I know the school doesn't offer."

"Not yet," Chris drawled, looking far too amused. "John asked for my help in getting it set up. He knew I wanted to set up more routine training too, so..." He shrugged.

"It seemed like the kind of thing the Lydia Martin my son is _starting_ to talk about would approve of," John said, staring resolutely at the wall and ignoring the way Stiles went red and accidentally knocked all his gifts over. "And might like to be involved in setting up. I can get you something more gift-like if you--"

"No," Lydia interrupted, tucking the flyer and the gift certificate back in their envelope and into her purse. "I like this. We'll talk later."

The twins, apparently, needed tees and hoodies with graphics on them, and mugs with stupid sayings, and sheets? Melissa didn't understand, but she assumed it was a good thing, with the way they kept blinking and smiling softly and weren't doing a good job of meeting anybody's eyes.

Isaac got--a stuffed chipmunk. A stuffed chipmunk that didn't _actually_ fit in the box it'd been shoved into, because it pretty much popped out of the box all on its own in a shower of familiar pieces of paper once the tape had been cut.

It looked like instinct that made Isaac hug the thing to his chest when it popped up at him. Which, Melissa had to admit, was better than instinctively ripping it apart.

Stiles leaned back and took a picture on his phone while Isaac was still blinking back the shock, then grunted a complaint about werewolves and glare that she didn't understand.

"Good for one movie night at Scott's," Lydia read, picking up one of the paper pieces that had floated her way.

Allison picked a few more out of her lap. "And one at Stiles'. And a family dinner at my place," she added, with a pointed look in Chris' direction. (The way he shrugged and smiled was anything but innocent, and Melissa planned to find out what _that_ was about. Oh yes she did.) "Board games at Scott's'. Video games at Stiles'."

"Scott has all the board games," Stiles shrugged. "The video games can really be at either. So long as _somebody_ remembers it's actually okay for him to come over."

The way Isaac ducked his head against the stuffed animal that apparently wasn't the actual gift didn't do anything to hide his smile. "Thanks."

Then Lydia was shoving her leg out, prodding Stiles' box. "Well?"

And the wrapping paper went _everywhere_ , but Melissa at least knew better than to expect anything else from Stiles.

It was a box full of boxes, but unlike Scott's present, this was-- 

"Dude," Stiles' eyes boggled at the neat assortment of highly suspicious looking baggies. "How many strains of wolfsbane _are_ there?"

The werewolves were not-so-subtly leaning away from Stiles, now, but didn't look distressed, at least.

"A lot," Chris drawled. "But those are some of the more common ones hunters use, with known effects and how to identify them. There are a few books in there too, and some canisters of other things you might find useful."

Stiles already had his hands on what, honestly, looked like a tea canister. Only it was plain silver and labeled CAUTION, so _obviously_ he was already moving to open it, right in the middle of a--

Snakes in a can.

They popped up right in Stiles' face and he flailed backward, only missing the coffee table because Scott grabbed for him at the right time.

Chris smirked. "And a few of those."

"Ohmygodthatsevil," Stiles breathed out all in a rush, right before he started laughing.

The other boxes were, thankfully, all small, silly things. Lydia had, in fact, gotten everyone gift cards (and chocolate oranges, or some other sweet for a few people). Allison had apparently been having a Hallmark spree, because everyone got an ornament with the year on it. Only some of them were obviously from October, and it was hysterical how many wolves, moons, and werewolves that girl had managed to collect. The boxes in Stiles' wrapping were all food. She had a hot cocoa sampler, Chris got tea, John had a small bag of hazelnut coffee, most of the kids got flavored popcorn (Isaac was already stretching out one of the gummy worms he'd found instead with--a little too much relish to be comfortable, honestly).

Her gifts from the twins turned out to be mittens from Aiden and a matching hat from Ethan. Which--okay. Generic, but useful. That--was a relief, honestly.

Merry Christmas. With werewolves. What even.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) In case you didn't catch it, there were two things worrying Melissa about the shirt. First, the general implication of arrows and violence, which she was hoping Allison would find funny. Second, the full lyric is "shot through the heart / and you're to blame / darling you give love a bad name". Which Melissa thought was a little...pointed, considering. (Also, writing Melissa apparently makes me a little punny.)
> 
> 2) I don't want anyone to think I'm downplaying gang violence, so I wanted to explain why the sheriff might be using gangs as a mental stand-in. He's actually a lot more comfortable with 'werewolf pack' than he would be with 'gang', but gangs are something that already live in his reality, and in how I'm seeing this timeline? Werewolves are still a fairly new addition. So he's starting at the known element to explain/understand the structure of what he's seeing and moving back from that point to reality.


End file.
